Counting Butterflies
by nayahasmyheart
Summary: Santana has been dreaming about Brittany her whole life. No, literally, Brittany has been a prominent character in every single one of her dreams. So what happens when Santana actually gets to meet real-life Brittany? Pure Brittana Fluff and Comedy
1. Just You Wait

So there's this girl who always appears in my dreams.

Her name's Brittany.

I've never met Brittany.

But I want to.

She's the love of my life.

Alright, yeah, I get it, you think I'm like some scary creeper freak.

She's real, okay?

Don't stare at me like that!

Like I'm some weird-ass alien monkey that just came down your chimney!

You don't believe me, you can get the fuck out of my face.

Thank you and goodbye.

Anyone else?

No?

Good.

Now back to my story.

Where was I?

Oh!

So Brittany exists.

Somewhere.

And she loves me and wants me to be hers and dreams about me just like I dream about her and yeah.

Still don't believe me?

Well, screw you.

She's real and she's my soul mate!

You'll see.

Just you wait.

* * *

><p>"Britt-Britt?"<p>

We're lying down in the shadow of a tall oak tree in the heart of a meadow. The smells of flowers and nature adorn my nostrils.

"Yeah, babe?"

"When am I gonna get to meet you? In real life, I mean."

(This is a dream, okay.)

She looks sideways at me with that mischievous smirk that always drives me nuts. "I don't know."

"I just really think that it's unhealthy to be in a relationship with a dream, y'know what I mean?"

Brittany snorts. "But I thought you love me."

I roll in the grass until my body is safely latched onto hers. "'Course I do."

"But you want the real me."

"Yeah. That way I can have you when I'm asleep _and_ when I'm awake!" I raise my arms up triumphantly at the brilliance and genius of my mind. "And we can have real sex and stuff. Dream sex just makes me wet and frustrated when I wake up. I need a real tongue down in my nether regions, okay? Can't you, like, tell the real you to find me?"

"I don't know. I'll try," she kisses my nose.

"Alright," I look up at the tree above us. Brittany remains quiet, so I turn my head and stick my tongue in her ear, wiggling it until she breaks down and laughs. "Good. Now let's count butterflies."

Because that's what we do. We count butterflies. It's like counting sheep, but way hotter.

"One butterfly," Brittany points up as the beautifully blue creature flutters above us.

"Two butterflies," I gesture to the branch above us, which serves as a landing space for a particularly white butterfly.

"Three butterflies," Brittany sneaks a hand under my shirt.

"Four butterflies," I keep my cool.

"Five butterflies." She's really close to me now, her lips on my neck, her hand caressing my chest.

"S—six butterflies." So. Fucking. Turned. On.

"Seven butterflies." She's on top of me now, her hands snaking across my body and her teeth leaving marks on my neckline.

"Eight butterflies," I say weakly as I become extremely embarrassed about how close I am to reaching climax already. She hasn't even done anything to me yet!

"Nine butterflies," she says sultrily as her hand moves to unbutton my jeans.

"Ten butterflies!" I scream as her hand slips under my panties. I break apart just at a simple touch.

See? I told you it's hot.

* * *

><p>As expected, I wake up from dream sex hot and bothered. I roll out of bed and skip to the bathroom to take a freezing-cold shower. When I get out, I take a good look at myself in the long wall mirror.<p>

"Well, hello, there," I say softly as my hands graze my incredibly sexy naked body.

I put on my Cheerios uniform, tie my hair back in a firm ponytail, and leave the house, backpack tightly strapped on my shoulders.

McKinley High isn't exactly what you'd call "pleasant." It's a ghastly old building with peeling plaster walls and a pathetic little sign outside of the front doors that reads, "Wel ome to Mc inley Hi h!"

I sigh in disgust. This is what we get for our hard-earned taxes?

I walk through the front doors into the familiar main hallway. Lockers are lined up on the walls from near to far. I stroll in with my head high and glance at the petty little insignificant students, daring them to try to irritate me.

I saunter into the choir room. The kids are all chattering excitedly among themselves, as usual.

I plop down on a chair and put my feet up on another, extracting my nail file from the side pocket of my backpack.

"Santana."

I gaze up at Puck, the owner of the voice. I cock my eyebrow.

"Go out with me."

My other eyebrow raises in astonishment. "Go out with you?" I ask in revulsion.

"I'll make you a happy woman."

"No freakin' way," I go back to my nail file.

"Come on, gimme a chance."

"I have a girlfriend."

Grave silence falls in the classroom. It's so quiet, I swear I can hear hair rustling in the nonexistent wind. I reluctantly look up again.

"Wait—you're gay?" Puck's eyes are wide with shock.

"Mhmm," I hum slowly. "Capital G gay."

They simply stare at me.

"Well, then, allow me to let you borrow my strap-on…" Quinn mutters as the rest of the Glee Club giggles in delight.

"Alright, you keep your opinions to yourself, or Ima go all kung-fu shit on yo' ass," I point my nail file at her.

"Santana, stop, just stop," Kurt shakes his head in disbelief.

"What, fruitcake?"

"You're not ghetto."

"_I'm_ not ghetto? Do you _know _where I'm _from_?"

"Lima Heights Adjacent," they all sing in unison.

"Exactly!" I huff.

"Yeah, that's not very intimidating since Lima Heights Adjacent is the best part of Lima," Kurt continues. "You live in the suburb of suburbs."

"You don't know what goes on in there! What I've seen! My eyes have been scarred!"

"What, someone broke his thousand-dollar lawnmower?"

I open my mouth, ready to retort a snappy answer, except I have nothing to say. I close my mouth, cross my arms over my chest, and pout.

The great and invulnerable Santana Lopez has been defeated.

I narrow my eyes at them. This war is so not over.

"Anyway," Rachel changes the subject. "So who is she?"

"Who's who?"

"Your girlfriend," she says slowly, as if she's explaining to a particularly rebellious first-grader that you aren't supposed to eat glue.

"Oh. Her name's Brittany."

"Where'd you meet her?"

I gaze at their faces. Each one shines with curiosity.

"In my dreams," I say carefully.

"Are you—are you _serious_ right now?" Puck calls out incredulously. "You're dating a fucking dream?"

"Look, she exists. I just haven't met her yet. She's sitting somewhere right now and daydreaming about me."

They gawk at me skeptically, their eyes only half-showing under their critical eyelids.

"Just you wait."

* * *

><p>So yeah there's this girl who appears in my dreams.<p>

Her name's Brittany.

She's real, okay?

And she's mine.


	2. Are you SERIOUS?

"Uh-this thing. Called love. I just. Can't handle it…"

I hold the soap bar to my face like a microphone as scorching water cascades down my bare back.

"Uh-this thing. Called love. I must. Get 'round to it, I ain't ready! Crazy little thing called love."

I sway my hips back and forth like Elvis. Because, really, if you don't know that Freddie Mercury wrote this song to sound like Elvis, you need to go lie down in a coffin like a good little vampire and bury your pathetic, ignorant ass.

"I gotta be cool. Relax. Get hip. Get on my tracks… Take a back seat. Hitch-hike. And take a long ride on my motor bike until I'm ready. READY FREDDIE. Crazy little thing called love. Guitar solo!"

I throw my soap bar carelessly to the side and get out my air guitar skills. "Na na na na nana naNA! Tata ta ta ta too doo doo! Na na na na nana naNA! Doo doo doo doo too-doo doo doo… BOOM BOOM BOOM! Pa-la-la-la! BOOM BOOM BOOM! Pa-la-la-la! Dun dun dun…"

I turn off the water and leap out of the shower, still flailing wildly in my air guitar solo. I dry myself off with a towel, wagging my butt to the upbeat rhythm.

So I'm gonna take this time right now to tell you all a little something. You know those people who are all like, "Oh, yeah, I _hate_ drama! I _hate_ gossip!" Yeah, you. I'm talking to you. I'm gonna give you a little reality check, so listen hard. When you're driving down the road, and you see a cop who pulled someone over, do you slow down to see what's going on? When there's a woman yelling at her husband in public, do you turn around but keep your ear to the shouting so that you won't miss a word? Don't even bother answering that. Because you do, and you know it. Because you are a little sheep in the herd that is humanity. And like everyone else, you bathe in excitement when something unfortunate happens to a random stranger. The Germans (yes, the Germans) created a word for this. Schadenfreude, taking pleasure in someone else's misery. And it's my favorite pastime.

You see? Stick this in the faces of all the people who think that I'm not smart and sophisticated! I have plenty of sophisticationness and intelligenceness, okay? I'm a fucking genius.

After putting on my perfectly fit Cheerios uniform, I leave the house, a toothy grin dominating my face. I don't know why, but I feel like something special's going to happen today. I march to school triumphantly, entirely ready for another day of amazingly snide remarks.

I stride gloriously into the choir room, only to see Mr. Schue's many forehead flaps rise up at me. "You're late."

"So?" I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to speak back to Santana fucking Lopez.

Wisely, he keeps his disgusting butt chin tucked down into his shirt. He watches me solemnly as I stroll very, very, very slowly to an empty chair.

I park my extraordinary ass in a magenta seat and look up expectantly at him.

"So…" he begins carefully. "This week's lesson will be about idols. People who inspire us. Who do you look up to most in life? Rachel, why don't you start us off?"

"Well," Rachel turns to us, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "There are many amazing people in this world, and this is so hard to choose, because, really, how do you pick one out of the millions? And—"

"Just shut up and tell us already," I glare at the vertically challenged bundle of irritation.

She frowns at me. "Well, I would have to go with the queen, the duchess, the woman of perfection, the—"

"I swear to God, Frodo—"

"Barbra Streisand!"

"What a surprise," I mutter. Then I smile sweetly at her, blink innocently, and say, "Well, you've got the nose for it."

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling and looks away.

"Umm…" Mr. Schue looks uncomfortable. I leer at him victoriously. Just another one of my many bitches. "Okay, umm… Finn, why don't you continue?"

"I think Tom Cruise is awesome," he says with that idiotic smile of his.

"Oh, so you like feminine men?" God, I am so freaking brilliant.

"He's not feminine!"

"His _wife_ looks more masculine than he does!"

He stares at me with enraged confusion. I cock my eyebrow at him. "Who's next?"

Sam shifts uneasily. "Sean Connery."

"Oh, so you like your women real young, huh?"

"Stephenie Meyer," Tina says warily.

"Are you _serious_? Why would you want to so horribly lack in talent?"

"Hugh Hefner," Puck's lips rise in a half smirk.

"You make me want to vomit all over Quinn here."

Quinn moves away defensively. "Patti LuPone."

"Those lips give me nightmares."

"J-Lo," Mercedes raises her gaze to me.

"Dat ass!"

Artie's eyes dart around the room. "Alfred Hitchcock."

"What a creep."

"Leonardo DiCaprio," Mike's eyes are worried.

"Sissy."

Blaine raises his chin arrogantly. "Nathan Lane."

"Gaaaaaay."

"Bernadette Peters," Kurt declares quietly.

The Glee members all turn their heads to me in expectation. I raise my eyebrows.

"What? I have nothing to say against Bernadette Peters. She's fantastic."

"Well, who would you pick, Santana?" Rachel asks cynically.

"Freddie Mercury, duh." That's a given.

"Who is that?" Tina asks, puzzled.

"Who—WHO IS THAT? ARE YOU SERIOUS?" I glower at her menacingly. She shrinks under my wrath. "Only the most talented man on earth! The lead singer and mastermind of Queen!"

"Like, Queen as in Bohemian Rhapsody…?"

I roll my eyes a full circle in their sockets and sigh heavily. "Yes," I say slowly to her as if she's an incompetent toddler, which, to be honest, she is, "Queen as in Bohemian Rhapsody."

The rest of the class is boring as fuck, so I zone out and think about my amazing Brittany. The way her light blonde bangs fall across her strikingly blue eyes. The tiny freckles that colonize her nose. That little naughty smile when she knows that I will forever be her wonderfully helpless slave. Perfection, she is perfection. I smile dreamily and realize that I still have this feeling, deep in my gut, that something tremendous will happen today.

The bell rings to let us out into our next classes, and I make my way to the gym for Cheerios practice. The cheerleaders are all standing around in their little red skirts…so much temptation. But no. No, I am Brittany's and Brittany's alone.

"Sit down!" Coach Sue tramps in purposefully. We all lower ourselves to the squeaky floor and cross our legs obediently.

"First of all, I am beyond disappointed with this team. You all have still yet to reach eighty-five pounds!"

"But Coach," a redhead named Amy whines, "if we lose that much weight, we won't be able to function!"

"I don't wanna hear it!" Her eyes widen with rage. "Weak, you're all weak!"

I lean back on my hands and watch the scene passively. Just another ordinary day in Cheerios practice.

"Now!" she looks through her notepad. "We have a new Cheerio joining us today. Brittany, why don't you come up here and introduce yourself?"

A tall girl with a blonde ponytail pushes herself off of the ground and walks shyly to Coach Sue. She turns around to face us.

My eyes threaten to pop out of their holes as I gawk at my love, my baby, my soul mate, my Brittany!

A little coy smile appears on her gorgeous face. "Hi, I'm Brittany."

It's seriously like slow motion, like in the movies when two lovers see each other across a field of daisies and fall into each other's arms. I jump up to my feet and flail my arms as I skip to her, an absolutely ecstatic smile on my face. "BRITTANY!"

I fall into her arms and kiss her passionately. Finally! I've waited for this moment for such a long time! My whole freaking life!

I retreat from the fervent kiss, happier than I've ever been.

Except…wait…

Brittany's jaw is hanging down to the floor, her face frozen in a petrified scream.

"Britt-Britt?" I inquire cautiously.

Her face remains in that same unyielding expression of horrified terror.

Oh, no.

She doesn't know who I am.

OH NO.


	3. I Will Not Relent!

Brittany slowly closes her jaw, her eyes still wide with bewilderment.

"Santana…" Coach Sue begins. "Would you like to explain to us why you're trying to scare away our newest member?"

My eyes dart around uneasily and land on Brittany again. She feels violated, harassed. I can see it in her eyes. I furrow my brow and gaze at her apologetically.

"Umm…" I look behind me to find thirty astonished faces glaring up at me. "I—umm…well… Brittany, um, appears in my, um," I cough loudly, "dreams."

The gym is dead silent, so I risk a glance back up from the floor. Brittany is slightly leaning back, probably not wanting my super highly contagious awkwardness to infect her.

"Brittany," Coach Sue says slowly, "appears in your dreams?"

"Uh—yeah."

"And what do you and Brittany do in your dreams, exactly?"

"Um," my voice ascends an octave. "We—um—you know, we just—do stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Well, you know, nothing—nothing in particular, just stuff."

Coach Sue narrows her eyes suspiciously. "I don't wanna see this kind of behavior again from my head cheerleader, got it?"

"Yeah—yeah, of course," I say rapidly. "I wouldn't dream—"

"Shut up and give me two laps."

I turn quickly on my heels and start to jog around the gym. My tennis shoes pound on the shiny, wooden floor.

Alright, time to think of a wonderfully brilliant plan. As I jog a full circle, I gaze to the center of the gym. The Cheerios are getting ready to begin a number. Brittany's cheeks are still pink with shock and embarrassment.

How do I win her heart? She has to love me, she just has to. She's my soul mate. We're supposed to get married and live happily with twenty-seven children and be each other's forever and ever and ever. But how's that ever going to happen with that mortified expression on her face?

I finish my laps and join the rest of the Cheerios. During practice, Brittany keeps as far away from me as humanly possible.

* * *

><p>"Hey, San."<p>

"I'm mad at you."

Brittany leans down in front of me, her eyes glistening in the warm sun. "Why?"

"Because the real you hates me."

"Oh," she sits down in the tall grass.

I frown at her. "Weren't you supposed to tell the real you to love me?"

"San," Brittany's voice sounds obnoxiously amused, "This is _your_ head, not the real me's head. This me only exists in your mind."

"Then how come there's even a real you?"

Brittany looks puzzled. "I don't know."

I turn my head in the other direction and pout. Brittany trails a finger down my shirt.

"One butterfly…"

"Leave me alone."

I blink hastily as her hand reaches my jeans. "Two butterflies…"

"Stop, Britt, I'm not in the mood."

She gently grabs my chin and turns it to her. "Three butterflies…"

I try to yank my chin free, but she snatches my lower lip with her teeth and tugs playfully. "Four butterflies…"

I try to push her away, but she shoves me backwards into the soaring blades of grass and pins my body down beneath her. "Five butterflies…"

"Britt, I'm trying to be a melodramatic bitch here. You're ruining my act."

She sniggers enthusiastically and sticks her tongue down my throat. "Six butterflies…" she sighs into my mouth.

Fuck. Why do I always get so turned on? The power this woman has over me. Unbelievable.

"Seven butterflies…" I squirm under her as a caressing hand makes its way under my shirt.

"No—you will not—I'm still mad at you—"

"Shut up," she commands. Oh, no. I cannot disobey an authoritative Brittany.

"Eight butterflies…" Her fingers play with the button of my jeans.

"No—"

"What did I just say?" Her eyes are menacing.

I cower under her glare. "To shut up…"

"So shut up," she goes back to the zipper. "Nine butterflies…"

My breathing becomes heavy and desperate as eager anticipation boils up inside of me.

"Ten butterflies…" Her hand snakes its way into my panties.

Oh, my good lord almighty that rules this earth from the heavens above!

I never had a chance.

* * *

><p>"Dude! Santana!"<p>

I turn around and find myself face to face with Puck. "I am not a dude."

"Whatever. Is it true you kissed some chick in Cheerios practice?"

I roll my eyes. "Not just _some chick_. It's Brittany."

"Who the hell's Brittany?"

"The girl from my dreams."

Puck's eyes widen in utter bafflement. "Your dream girlfriend is real?"

"Yeah, that's what I told you guys," I start to make my way to the choir room. Puck quickly catches up.

"Can you guys like…make a sex video or something?"

"If I were you, I would walk away very quickly before I kick your sorry ass to Tartarus."

Chin high, I walk into the choir room and situate myself in one of the chairs.

"Alright, guys," Mr. Schue hurries in determinedly. "We've got a new member, she's an amazing dancer. Everyone please welcome Brittany!"

The love of my pathetic life walks in timidly with two textbooks cradled in her arms. She smiles down at the ground.

"Wait, Santana—is this the same Brittany?" Puck exclaims ecstatically.

Brittany's eyes fall on me. Her lips move to mouth, "Oh, no."

"You know each other?" Mr. Schue raises his pointy, impish eyebrows.

"Yeah," I say as Brittany shakes her head. "I mean—it's complicated."

I can tell that Brittany regrets joining Glee Club because I'm here, and the thought crushes me. The sooner she's willingly mine, the better.

The lesson is boring and the licensed pedophile who calls himself a teacher keeps droning on and on about how the people we look up to really shape our lives. After he feels like he's satisfied his need to pet his ego, Mr. Schue breaks us up into groups to work on our songs.

Rachel looks over my shoulder at the doodle that I drew in my notebook. "What's that?"

"Me as a superhero. My superhero name is Captain Underboob the Womanizer," I bounce my eyebrows and wink at Brittany. She blushes deeply and glances away.

"You are so weird," Kurt stares unyieldingly at me.

"I'm not weird, I'm cool, okay? Every cool person has a superhero name."

"No, every nerd has a superhero name, Santana," Quinn mutters.

"I ain't no nerd, bitch!"

"You've read the whole Harry Potter series six times."

"Okay, there is a fine, fine line between a dedicated Potterhead and a nerd—"

"You greet people with the Vulcan symbol, saying, 'Live long and prosper.'"

"So? Vulcans are cool—"

"You practically know all of Lord of the Rings by heart!"

"That's because those movies rock—"

"Just give it up, Santana," Kurt shakes his head. "You're a nerd and you will never be ghetto."

"Oh, like you are, Mr. Whiter-Than-Milk? I am from Lima Heights!"

"We've had this conversation, and, if I remember correctly, you were defeated. Give it up."

I sigh agitatedly and turn my gaze to my left. My rage melts away, however, when I see Brittany's face dominated by a tiny little smirk.

After class, I hurry after her down the buzzing hallway. "Brittany!"

She glances over her shoulder, sees me, and begins to walk faster.

"Wait!" I run in front of her, making her stop dead on her tracks.

"What?" she says uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry that I kissed you like that, in front of everyone. It's just that I've been waiting to meet you in real life for so long—"

"Look, Santana, I think that it's super creepy that you've been having dreams about me."

"It's not creepy, it's romantic!"

"What do we do in these dreams?" she eyes me suspiciously.

"Uh—" Oh, no. "Well, you know, we, um, have, um, sex."

"We have _sex_ in your dreams?" she whispers in surprise.

"Well, yeah—"

"Please don't speak to me anymore," she walks around me and dashes away.

I turn after her and shout, "You will love me!"

The students in the hallway turn their heads to me, giggling delightedly.

"Just you wait!"

She lowers her head and continues to half-walk half-jog until she reaches her classroom.

"I WILL NOT RELENT!"


	4. Captain Underboob Wins a Smile

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"

These are the words that softly sing from my mouth as I scroll down Brittany's Facebook profile.

Okay, so _maybe_ I hacked Brittany's Facebook and added myself as her friend. _Maybe_ I found out what her Tumblr URL is and secretly followed her. I did not also find out her home address through her IP address, wuuuut.

"How cute…" I murmur as I click on a picture of Brittany hugging a sleek dolphin. What did dream-Brittany say to me once about dolphins? Oh! 'Dolphins are just gay sharks.' Bless her.

I look at my watch. 7:49. Time to head out for school.

I run to the kitchen, stick an apple in my mouth, strap my backpack on, and leave the house in a bubbly mood. I have a plan, a plan that will make Brittany crawl on her knees and beg for me!

The main hallway of McKinley High is bustling with students as I make my way to the choir room. I burst in enthusiastically and grin as I see that Brittany hasn't arrived yet.

"So!" I dash to the Glee members. "Today will be a grand day for all of you. You will witness me serenade my love, Brittany, with Queen, and she will beg, _beg_, for me to have her!"

They gaze at me cynically.

"You will all remember this as the day that you _almost_ doubted Captain Santana Underboob!"

Quinn purses her lips judgmentally. "Jack Sparrow line? Really?"

"It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow!"

"Why are you so obsessed with Freddie Mercury, anyway?" Artie's eyes are critical behind his black-rimmed glasses. "Is that your dream? To die of AIDS?"

"Shhh!" I run behind him and cup my hand over his mouth. "He's not dead, but don't tell! He's in hiding because his fans started getting all up in his grill and he didn't wanna go out like John Lennon."

"You're crazy," Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Alright, Cream Pie, I'm gonna set you in your right place. You're going to stop these rude comments." I point a threatening finger at him.

"Or?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Or Ima beat the shit outta yo' boyfriend!"

I challenge him to a stare-down as I widen my eyes and fight to keep them open. He rejects the challenge and turns his indifferent gaze to Blaine.

"Freddie Mercury's teeth were weird…" Mercedes mutters quietly.

I spin to her. "FREDDIE MERCURY'S TEETH WERE PERFECT!"

"He looked like a horse," Blaine eyes me skeptically.

"YOU LOOK LIKE A HORSE!"

"You know who _really_ looks like a horse?" Puck says thoughtfully. "Sarah Jessica Parker."

"There is a whole website dedicated to that idea," Rachel looks up from her notebook. "Sarah Jessica Parker Looks like a Horse dot com. It's legit."

My hateful eyes are still on that disgusting, egotistical Blaine. "You know," I begin calmly, "I always thought that Rachel was the number one most annoying Hobbit in town. Seems like she's got a little bit of competition for the title of The Most Repulsively Obnoxious Hobbit in _All_ the Shire, though, doesn't it?" I glare menacingly at him, then add, "Eyebrows?"

Before he has a chance to respond, Mr. Schue walks into the room, followed by Brittany. I take a seat in one of the chairs and cross my agitated arms over my chest.

"Okay, guys…" Mr. Schue turns to us. "So who's got a song ready to show the class?"

I raise my hand promptly and Mr. Schue nods at me, "Alright, Santana, come on up."

I stroll to the front of the classroom and give the sheet music to our faithful band. Those kids just appear out of nowhere with exactly the right instruments whenever you need them. They're magic.

I twist around and situate myself in front of Brittany. The band begins to play the opening notes of the song.

"Tonight

I'm gonna have myself a real good time

I feel alive

And the world's turning inside out, yeah

I'm floating around in ecstasy, so…"

Brittany is uneasy under my intense stare.

"Don't stop me now

Don't stop me 'cause I'm having a good time

Having a good time!"

I begin to bounce off of the walls of the classroom as the song becomes more upbeat. As I continue to sing, I notice the infuriatingly amused expressions on everyone's faces. This song is super sexy, okay?

"I'm burning through the sky, yeah!

Two hundred degrees!

That's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit!

I'm trav'ling at the speed of light!

I wanna make a supersonic man outta you!"

I use my extraordinary dancing skills to show Brittany just how irresistible I really am, and I'm sure that the look of disgust on her face is just her way of being turned on. I hurry to her as I get ready for the best, hottest line of the song.

"I'm a sex machine ready to reload

Like an atom bomb, about to…"

I rub my marvelous ass on her knees, attempting to give her the lap dance of her life, but she shoves me away.

"Woah, oh, oh, oh, oh EXPLODE!"

The Glee Club is swaying back and forth to the awesome music. I flail around as I get out my mad air guitar skills once again.

"Doo-doo! Pum-pum-pum doo-doo! Na na na na na! Dun dun dun ta-da da da da…"

I spin and jump as I get ready for the grand finale.

"Don't stop me now

I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball

Don't stop me now

If you wanna have a good time, just gimme a call

Don't stop me! 'Cause I'm having a good time

Don't stop me! Yes, I'm having a good time

I don't wanna stop at all…"

I slide on my knees across the slippery floor to Brittany with a gargantuan grin on my face. "Ta da!" I exclaim.

I can see that Brittany is trying so hard to hold back that smile. At last, she gives in. Her lips curl up coyly.

"Aha!" I get to my feet. "Behold! A smile!"

"That was very…interesting, Santana, thank you," Mr. Schue returns to the front of the classroom as I take a seat proudly.

I spend the rest of the class sneaking glances at Brittany. If I got a smile, I can get more. After Rachel sings "Don't Rain on My Parade" (my ears are _still_ ringing), Mr. Schue dismisses us and we're free to leave the choir room.

Brittany stands on her feet and starts to make her way out to the hallway. I scurry after her.

"Brittany!"

She stops and slowly turns to me with a bothered, questioning look on her face.

"Did you like the song?" I gape at her, full of optimistic hope.

She gazes at me, considering her answer. "It was cute."

"Yes!" I ball up my fist and bring my elbow back in a victorious gesture. "So you think I'm cute?"

"I didn't say that," she says, but her expression is much softer than before.

"Will you go out with me?"

"No," she heads down the hall.

I desperately run in front of her and sprawl out on the floor. Students shamelessly roar with laughter. "I am your slave! My body is yours! Take advantage of it! Do you know how many people would give their lives to get a chance with me?"

She rolls her eyes and walks past me.

I sit up, my legs still spread out in front of me. "FINE!"


	5. The Art of Failure

I'm sitting in the choir room, minding my own business and filing my nails (I need them short because reasons), waiting for Glee Club to start.

"Hey."

I look up, only to see the love of my life smiling down at me. She sits down in the chair next to me as I cross my arms and pout in the other direction.

"You giving me the silent treatment?" Brittany's voice sounds amused.

"Hmph."

She chuckles throatily. She's silent for a few moments, and then she says, "So, I was thinking about your offer. I think I might take you up on that."

All traces of self-pity vanish as I turn my head to beam at her. "You'll go on a date with me?"

"Yeah," she smiles coyly.

"Aha! I knew that you wouldn't be able to resist my Prince Charming charisma!"

"Actually," she teases, "I'm only going out with you because I like to give everyone a chance."

"Right, you just keep telling yourself that." I have such a strong desire to lean in and kiss her supple lips, but I remember what happened last time and hold myself back. "You won't be disappointed, I promise," I smile impishly at her. "I'm going to take you on the date of your life."

* * *

><p>I turn around to gaze at myself in the long bathroom mirror. Nice.<p>

I'm wearing a homemade version of Freddie Mercury's outfit in "Bohemian Rhapsody." A tiny white cardigan sits over a wonderfully tight white nylon shirt and matching flared pants, like the ones that they wore in the seventies. The sleek white blends beautifully with my dark skin. My inky hair cascades down my back in very loose curls and my lips shine in crimson red.

I would've totally worn my checkered "We Are the Champions" outfit, but I think that Brittany might find that one a little overwhelming, what with the completely and obviously open chest and everything. It's okay. We'll leave that one for the bedroom.

I skip to my room, grab my black side purse, and bounce down the stairs.

"Bye, Mom!" I call over my shoulder as I slam the door behind me.

I stare at the note in my hand. Brittany wrote down her address for me. Orange Street. That's like, what, five blocks away?

I walk through the extremely dangerous suburban streets of Lima Heights Adjacent. I pretend that I'm a secret agent and that I have to seek out the evil terrorists. There. A man is suspiciously mowing his lawn. He probably just planted the grass there after burying a hundred bodies under it. There, another. An elderly woman is standing on her porch, smoking a cigarette. The smoke emanated from that cigarette is probably some deadly poison that is meant to kill the whole town.

I put my hand on my belt as if I have a holster and a gun. I will save this world from evil and everyone will love me and vote for me to be queen of the earth. Well, actually, the earth is too minuscule for my genius mind. I'll be…Queen of the Universe!

I finally arrive at Orange Street, and begin to look for number 2931. It's a cute little house with a cream-violet roof and a polished front lawn. I make my way to the front door, which is matching in color with the roof.

I raise a balled up fist and knock on the door. After about thirteen seconds (yes, I counted), the door opens to reveal a sight that makes my jaw drop and my mouth drool.

Brittany is wearing a baby blue summer dress that wraps tightly around her chest and gushes down to her knees. A large white hat crowns her beautiful blonde hair above her sole-shaped eyes, which are shining brilliantly as they scan my awed face.

Her eyes fall on my outfit and a shy grin appears on her face. "Freddie Mercury, Bohemian Rhapsody," she murmurs.

"You know!" I'm so happy that I want to jump at her and envelop her in my arms. "See? You _are_ my soul mate!"

"We'll see about that," she says, her grin widening as she shuts the door behind her. "So where are we going?"

"Well, first, to a movie."

"Oooh!" She turns to me as we begin to walk down the street. "What movie?"

"_The Hunger Games_, it just came out in theaters," I pant excitedly.

"I haven't heard of it."

"You haven't—" I'm about to snap an insult when I realize that I'm talking to Brittany. "You haven't read the books?"

"No, are they good?"

"'Good' is an understatement. They're fantastic."

"Well, you'll have to read them to me sometime, then, won't you?" a mischievous smirk, like the one dream-Brittany has, dominates her face.

I have a hard time catching my breath as I think of all of the long hours that we could spend cuddled up reading _The Hunger Games_, and what we could do when we got tired of reading.

"Definitely," I breathe. "I'll definitely read them to you."

We stroll for twenty minutes, chatting carelessly about school and Glee Club and life, until we reach the movie theater. It stands tall and glorious in the boring town, with bright lights and shining screens.

"Hi," I approach the ticket booth. "Can I have two tickets for _The Hunger Games_?"

"Twenty-two dollars," the woman says in a bored tone.

I pay her the ridiculously high fee and grab two red tickets. Brittany is waiting a few feet behind me, her hands crossed and resting on her abdomen.

"Thanks for paying for me," she bats her eyelashes.

"Of course!" I lead her to the door, where we show our tickets so that we could enter. "You want popcorn?"

"Sure."

We walk to the snack bar and gaze up at the menu. I order us a jumbo popcorn and two Cokes. Arms piled with goodies, we enter theater nine. The seats line up in orderly rows and the huge screen is playing incredibly annoying commercials. We ascend the tiny stairs all the way up to the top and choose seats in the middle of the row. I rub my hands together in anticipation.

What Brittany doesn't know is that I paid the guy in the back fifty bucks to play a video that I made before the actual movie. A…um…_special_ video.

After the dumb commercials are over, the screen glows with the message: "Please be courteous to others and silence your cell phones now." My heart quickens as I hear hurried commotion in the back.

The video changes. For a moment, all you can see is the still image of my messy room, and then the song "Bicycle Race" by Queen booms, deafening everyone in the theater. Epic opera sounds from behind the camera.

"Bicycle, bicycle, bicycle

I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle…"

Everyone gasps unanimously as video-me jumps into camera view, completely butt-naked except for socks and a watch. Brittany's body stiffens beside me.

"I want to ride my bicycle

I want to ride my bike

I want to ride my bicycle

I want to ride it where I like!"

My marvelous boobs bounce as I dance and jump around the room to the tune. I wiggle my butt at the camera.

"You say black, I say white

You say bark, I say bite

You say shark, I say hey, man

Jaws was never my scene

And I don't like Star Wars!"

The people in the theater begin to giggle delightedly. "Hey!" I shout down at a particularly obnoxious group of teenagers. "This is sexy dancing, okay!"

They look back at me and begin to full-on roar with laughter.

"Do you believe them?" I turn to Brittany. "I am—"

Oh, no.

Her back is rigidly straightened up against the back of the seat, her eyes wide and her expression petrified. "Brittany?"

She rips her gaze off of the screen to look at me in bewilderment. "Can we leave?"

"But the movie hasn't even started yet!"

"Just—please, Santana."

"Okay, if that's what you want," I say, defeated. I grab the popcorn as we slowly make our way out of the row. When we get to the kids who were laughing at my awesome dancing, I pour the whole batch of popcorn on their idiotic heads.

Brittany's quiet until we're out of the theater. Then she turns to me. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"You can't film yourself dancing naked and play it in a theater full of people."

"Why not? My body is—"

"That's not the point," her eyes are boring holes into my soul. "You can get arrested for that. It's like streaking."

"Oh, I've done that before, it was f—"

"Santana!" she exclaims and I shut up. She shakes her head and sighs. "Let's just go. What's next?"

"Restaurant!" We walk out of the building and I lead her to a little structure about five minutes away. "Behold! Chipotle! The food of my people!"

She rolls her eyes as the tips of her lips lift into a side smirk and I add, "It's terribly romantic."

She chuckles and walks into the building. She orders a bowl of black beans, chicken, guacamole, and rice while I order a huge fat burrito. We get our drinks and sit down at a vacant table.

I watch as she politely picks up her fork and begins to nibble on her food. I look down at the burrito in front of me. I should've ordered a bowl. There is no flattering way to eat a freaking burrito.

I pick it up and bring it to my mouth, glancing up at Brittany to see if she's watching. She's not. I risk it and take a bite, except it's way too big of a bite and the food spills out of my mouth as I try to chew the massive amount.

Brittany gazes up at me and snorts. "Hey," I say, but my mouth is so stuffed that it just comes out as a grunt. "Itsabowittookayitshawdtoeat."

She lets out a hearty laugh and mutters something under her breath. With some difficulty, I finally swallow the small elephant of food and say, "What was that?"

"I just said you're cute."

"So you think this disgusting eating is cute but you didn't like my naked dancing?"

She gives me this look as if she knows exactly what's going on inside my mind and blinks.

Okay, so it was impulsive and stupid and a complete fail, but I couldn't stop myself. I lean across the table, grab her face, and kiss her feverishly.

"Mmm!" She backs out of the kiss and looks down at her dress. I follow her gaze.

Good God almighty, how do I always manage to mess up everything?

Her drink and her meal are spread out across her lap and her ruined dress.

"I'm sorry," I whisper helplessly.

She glares up at me, but softens her expression when she sees that I'm on the verge of tears. She won't ever want to go out with me again. Let's just face it. I'm awkward and clueless and naïve and no one will ever want to be with me. Even though I really only want one person.

"It's okay," she says soothingly. "It's just a dress, I have dozens more at home."

"Yeah, but I really like that one," I sit back in my seat and look down at my knees.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

I snap my head up in bafflement. "You'll give me another chance?"

"Yes. But this time," she holds my hand, which is resting dejectedly on the table, "let me do the planning, alright?"


	6. Success!

"Guess what!"

Brittany turns around, her eyes glimmering in the sunlight. A broad smile dominates her face as she sees me running to her. "What?"

"Real-you is giving me another chance!"

"Another chance?" She gracefully drops to the ground. "What did you do?"

"Oh," I sit in the tall grass beside her, leaning back on my hands. "Umm… I might've eaten a burrito like an incompetent swine…"

"And?"

"And… I might've spilled her dinner on her dress…"

"And?" God. She knows everything. It's like she's inside my mind. Oh, wait. She is.

"And…" I look up at the branches above us. "I might've filmed myself dancing naked and played it in a movie theater."

"You _what_?" She lets out a hearty laugh. "You would."

"Hey, it was extra super sexy dancing, okay?"

"Mmm…" She stares at me hungrily.

"Britt-Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I good at sex?" I raise my hesitant gaze to her.

Her signature mischievous smile returns to her face. "You're extraordinary."

"Yeah, well, I can't trust you, you're in my mind, and of course I would tell myself that I'm extraordinary at sex."

She chuckles and inches her finger toward me. "Why don't we just see for ourselves? One butterfly…"

"No, Britt, this has to stop, real-you thinks that it's creepy that I have sex with you in my dreams."

But this is a persistent woman we're dealing with here. "Two butterflies…" She gets on all fours and arches her back inwards like lioness that's about to pounce on her prey.

"Oh, no."

She swoops in on me, pins me down, and begins to rip off my clothes. "Three butterflies! Four butterflies! Five butterflies! Six butterflies!"

I fight against her but it's no use. If my subconscious wants to have sex, then my subconscious will have sex.

"Seven butterflies! Eight butterflies! Nine butterflies!"

She slips a long finger into me and I yelp, "TEN BUTTERFLIES!"

* * *

><p>"Hey," real-Brittany sits down next to me in the choir room.<p>

"Hey yourself," I say sultrily and wiggle my eyebrows.

"So we need to talk about our next date."

"I'm all ears," I grin at her.

"First of all, no Freddie Mercury outfits."

"But I still haven't shown you my Killer Queen one—"

"Santana," her piercing blue eyes bore holes into me.

"Okay…"

"Just wear a nice garment. A dress or something."

A dress, a dress…do I even own one?

"Alright."

"Okay, guys!" Mr. Schue strides into the room purposefully. "This weeks' lesson: _Love_."

"Oooh!"

"So! Who can tell me what _love_ is?"

"Love is when Finn learns not to fart next to me," Rachel says proudly.

"That's _disgusting_, Sméagol," I snarl.

"Love is when Mike lifts me up in the air and I feel like I'm flying!" Tina calls out excitedly.

"Why don't you flap your way out of my sight, then, Slanty?"

"Love is when Sam does his George W. voice to make me laugh!" Mercedes exclaims joyously.

"Really? When Sam starts with his voices, all I wanna do is throw up wet kittens."

"Alright, Santana, that's enough," Mr. Schue looks at me disapprovingly. "Why don't you tell us what love is for you?"

I gaze sideways at Brittany, who's peering back at me curiously. "Love is when you constantly think about a person, even if she's not in the room. Love is when your stomach starts to dance salsa every time she smiles. Love is when you're willing to travel to the moon and back just to get that person her favorite chocolate bar. Love is when you know that you'll do anything, just anything, so that she would love you back."

My last words hang in the air as the class remains completely silent. Brittany's mouth slightly parts and she blinks gently as she stares deeply into my eyes.

"Wow, Santana, I'm impressed," Mr. Schue looks dumbfounded. I shrug in response.

After class, I'm about leave for the hallway when I feel a tug on my hand. I turn around and see Brittany standing beside me. "That was beautiful, what you said."

"See? I can be sweet and sincere."

Her eyes light up and she smiles at me. "So Breadstix, Friday night at seven? It's karaoke night."

"I love karaoke!"

"But no Queen."

"But—"

"No. Queen."

"Fine."

* * *

><p>Dress. Dress. Dress. I have to own at least one.<p>

I ravage through my closet, throwing out random t-shirts and jeans. "OOOH!"

I extract a glorious red lightsaber like the one Darth Maul has. I tie a bathrobe around myself and look in the mirror.

"I'm a Jedi."

I swish the lightsaber around the room as I sing out the Mission Impossible theme. "Dun dun dun-dun! Dun dun dun-dun! Dun dun dun-dun! Dun dun dun-dun! Too-doo-doo! Too-doo-doo! Too-doo-doo! Too-doo!"

I leap off of my bed and dive into the closet to hide from my evil arch nemesis. Very unfortunately, I run into the shelves, bringing down a flood of previously neatly folded clothes, as well as the shelves themselves. They create such a huge, chaotic crashing sound that I'm surprised that I'm even alive under them.

"SANTANA!" I hear my mom yell from downstairs. "WHAT DID YOU BREAK?"

"Nothing!" I call as I crawl out from underneath the turmoil. I stand on my feet and turn back to look at the mess that I created.

My closet looks like a battleground. Like Big Foot had decided to make it his inconvenient seating space. I sigh and frown at the mayhem.

But OH! A dress!

It's lying there innocently, half covered by one of the long white shelves. I pull it out and stare at it gloriously. It's strapless and black, and it flares out at the bottom to reveal several pink bottom layers. Just what I need.

I quietly close the door of the closet. I'll deal with it later.

I quickly slip on the dress and rush to the bathroom. I leave my long hair slightly wavy, apply minimal makeup to my face, and put on my silver heart earrings.

I glance at the clock. 6:41! It's almost time!

I grab my purse and skip downstairs. Brittany said that she would pick me up this time. I try to sit down patiently on the couch, but that doesn't work. I begin to pace the wooden floor, far more anxious than I was for our first date. I just can't mess this one up.

I jump up several feet when the doorbell rings. I straighten out my dress, inhale deeply, and swing open the front door.

Brittany gasps as her eyes scan my bare shoulders, my sensual dress, my exquisite legs that I am just so proud of. Those are some damn hot legs, okay?

Finally, her eyes settle on my face. "So?" I inquire with a huge grin.

"It's perfect, Santana," she breathes, barely audible.

I take my turn to look her up and down. Her hair is pulled back and wrapped in a cute red bandana. She's wearing a long-sleeve, gray dress with all of these little shapes in purple and polka dot and tiger stripes. My eyes travel up from pink heels to tall crimson socks to a very short hemline. _Very_ short.

"You're perfect, too," I say coyly as her lips rise into a demure smile that sends pleasant flutters through my stomach.

She pulls me out of the house and links her right arm through my left. I walk proudly down the street with my fair damsel hanging on my arm. So far, so good.

Breadstix is only about fifteen minutes away, and when we get to the Italian restaurant, it's completely packed. Brittany walks up to an anxious host and hums, "Brittany S. Pierce, I have a table reserved for two."

The host raises his curly hair to her and then leans back down into his papers. He runs a hesitant finger down the list. "Pierce… Pierce… Pierce… There. Follow me, please."

He sits us down at a table right smack in the middle of the restaurant. Someone has just finished a karaoke song, and the next participant clears her throat into the microphone. "This song is dedicated to my boyfriend, Finn."

I flare my nostrils and turn to the voice. You've _got_ to be kidding me.

Cheers come up from a table to my left. To my unbelievably huge dismay, the whole Glee Club is sitting at an elongated table, chewing happily on pizza and slurping their drinks.

Brittany chuckles. "Pretty small around here, huh? Not too many places to go to."

I grunt and turn back to her. God, she's beautiful.

I look down at the menu in my hands. I need to pick something that I can eat gracefully this time.

"You wanna order a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs?" Brittany offers. "And we can share?"

"Yeah, that sounds awesome!"

On cue, a waitress with a bob that's reminiscent of dried-out hay arrives at our table. We order two glasses of water and a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, and the waitress scurries away.

I stick my fingers in my ears as I try to shut out Rachel's belting voice. She's ruining everything.

A warm hand pulls my right hand off of my ear and sets it on the table. Brittany's index finger strokes mine.

I gaze up at her. At once, I'm reminded of my dream-Brittany. She has that same you're-so-ridiculous-but-I-love-you-anyway look in her eyes.

All I want at that moment is to lean in and kiss her again, but I've learned my lesson. I settle for biting my lip and adorning her with my loving expression instead.

The food comes surprisingly quickly and a grand plate of spaghetti and meatballs is laid before us. I peek up at Brittany.

She smirks at me and picks up her fork. I follow her actions. I begin to spin my fork inside the spaghetti, and at last I lift it up.

So you know when you're eating spaghetti, and you just keep twisting and twisting the fork, but it's like it never ends? And then you try to push some of it back down to your plate because it's really too much, but the whole bunch falls off of the fork and you have to start all over again? Yeah.

After the third time, I just give up and fork a meatball instead. I'm about to bring it up to my mouth and take a bite out of it when it breaks in half and falls on my beautiful dress.

Brittany is ripped between saying, "Oh, no!" and laughing her ass off. She helps me clean the marinara sauce off of my dress and I set my fork on the table. "Defeated by Spaghetti and her sidekick, Meatballs."

Brittany giggles and expertly spins her fork through the spaghetti. She brings it up and lets it glide in the air in front of my mouth. Reluctantly, I open my jaw and take a bite, but some of it spills down and my chin is covered in marinara sauce. Brittany wipes her finger across my chin and licks the digit. A violent shudder passes through my body. That was _so _sexy.

When our plate is satisfyingly empty, I raise my eyes to the karaoke area of the restaurant. "Can I go sing?" I ask Brittany shyly.

"Please do!" she says excitedly. "But no Queen."

"Okay, okay," I roll my eyes playfully.

I stroll to the karaoke table and begin to look through the songbooks. It doesn't take too long until I find the absolutely perfect song. I put in the request and patiently await my turn.

Tina finishes her horrifying rendition of Cher's "Believe," and I take the stage. I grab the microphone and twist my body to face Brittany. I can see that she's hesitant, that she isn't sure what I'll do this time. But this time, I really do think that she'll like it.

The karaoke track begins with soft piano. I gaze deeply into Brittany's eyes and raise the microphone to my face.

"For you, there'll be no more crying

For you, the sun will be shining

And I feel that when I'm with you, it's alright

I know it's right…"

The restaurant hushes as everyone gawks to me. Brittany's eyes are relieved and adoring.

"To you, I'll give the world

To you, I'll never be cold

'Cause I feel that when I'm with you, it's alright

I know it's right…"

I can see the Glee Club's awed faces out of the corner of my eye. I bet they thought that I could never be genuine.

"And the songbirds are singing

Like they know the score…"

I glance down hesitantly and then back up at Brittany, ready to truly confess my love for her.

"And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before."

There's a short piano solo, and I decide to step off of the stage to make my way through the crowded room to Brittany.

"And I wish you all the love in the world

But most of all, I wish it from myself…"

Brittany's lips curve into a beautiful little smile.

"And the songbirds are singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before

Like never before, like never before…"

The booming sound of clapping hands fills the room as cheers rise up from the Glee table. But, honestly, at that point, the only person I care about is Brittany. And, to my great relief and joy, she looks like she's absolutely in love. With me!

I return the microphone and walk back to the table. Quinn, Mercedes, and Sam take the stage to sing "Cherish/Cherish."

Before I can sit down, Brittany grabs my hand and leads me to the makeshift dance floor. She spins me into her and we begin to dance to the catchy tune, my left hand in her right one and our free arms hugging each other's backs.

It's one of the happiest moments of my life. It's like the love is emitting from our bodies and melting together as we sway to the melody.

Towards the end of the song, Brittany pulls back a little to gaze at me. I decide to take a risk. I close my eyes and crane my neck sideways. I linger there, waiting and praying for Brittany to willingly meet my lips.

And she does. Her lips are warm and welcoming as she leans in for the soft kiss. After a few moments of our lips clasped together, she lets go of my left hand to pull my whole body into hers. I'm overcome by feelings of euphoria and ecstasy and love.

Best. Kiss. Ever.


	7. Hi, Hello, She Thinks I'm Adorable

**A/N: WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! Extreme fluff. If you read this, you will be very likely to puke beautiful rainbows, and you may even be diagnosed with diabetes.**

**The choice is yours. You have been warned.**

* * *

><p>"Move your ass, idiot. Everyone make way for my girlfriend!"<p>

I grab Brittany's hand and lead her down the hall as she whispers, "Santana."

"What?" I turn my luminous smile to her. "I'm just proud to be your girlfriend, that's all."

"Okay, but you don't have to make such a big deal out of it," she smirks coyly. I lean in and give her a quick peck on the lips, our noses grazing against each other. Her smirk widens into a grin.

We stroll, hand in hand, into the choir room. The Glee Club fights to keep back their skeptical sneers.

"I can't believe that you're actually dating her, Brittany," Finn shakes his head incredulously.

"Ima beat yo' ass—"

Brittany pulls me back and sets her stern gaze on Finn. "Why? Santana's adorable and quirky and weird in the best way possible," she turns to me. "I'm happy that you did not relent."

"AHA!" I point my finger at the doughy imbecile. "You have been defeated by the Riddler and her mistress, Poison Ivy!"

"Wait, San, can't we be Batman and Catwoman?" Brittany offers shyly.

I turn my pleasantly surprised and adoring gaze to her. "Of course, baby," I twist my head back to Finn. "You have been defeated by the Bat and the Cat!"

Finn rolls his eyes and pouts at Rachel.

Tina adjusts in her seat. "So I'm gonna watch _Titanic _for the first time today!"

"Jack dies," I snicker victoriously.

"Why would you tell me that?" she calls out agitatedly. "Fine, I'll watch _The Notebook_ instead."

"Oh, they both die in that one."

"I hate you."

"Oh, no worries, it's mutual."

Mike seems disapproving. He turns to Tina. "Why don't you just watch the last Harry Potter movie instead?"

"OH MY GOD MY POOR BABIES THEY ALL DIE IT'S SO DEPRESSING!"

"Shut up, Santana!" Tina, Rachel, Finn, and Kurt all shout at the same time.

"J.K. Rowling is a dangerous genius. She knew that she had the hearts of millions of people in her hands when she was writing it, and she used her power to destroy everyone's lives. I was utterly disgruntled," I wipe a single tear from my eye.

"I've never read the books," Tina says as she shrugs her shoulders.

"Are you _kidding_ me? You've read Twilight like a kabajillion times, but you've never read Harry Potter? You're missing out on life!"

Brittany suddenly clutches onto my hand. "San," she whispers in my ear, "let's go somewhere. Before Mr. Schue comes in."

I turn excitedly to her. "Now you're talking."

She beams joyously and pulls me out of the room as the Glee Club stares incredulously after us.

We run down the hall when we hear Mr. Schue's voice. "Girls, where are you going?"

We slowly turn around. "Umm…" Brittany begins. "We're just going to the bathroom."

I stifle an ecstatic chuckle. Mr. Schue eyes us suspiciously, then says, "Alright, but don't take too long, we're starting a new lesson today."

"We won't!" Brittany smiles sweetly until Mr. Schue is inside the choir room. Then she turns her mischievous simper to me and says, "Let's go."

We dash out of the rotten building and to her small and silver car. I hurry in front of Brittany to open the door for her. "Mademoiselle."

She flashes a smile at me and gets into the driver's seat. I scurry around the car and jump into the passenger seat. "So where are we going?"

"I have no idea," she giggles uncontrollably. God, she's so perfect.

She turns the key in the ignition and we drive off with a feeling of ultimate liberation. After about ten minutes of driving, I word out a thought that's been making me somewhat puzzled.

"Britt?" I ask cautiously.

"Yeah?"

"How is it that you fell in love with me so quickly?"

The car is stopped at a red light and she twists her neck to gaze at me adoringly. "You didn't really leave me a choice. It was kind of impossible not to, what with your unconditional love and incredible adorableness."

My face flushes deeply and she chuckles. "So…" I hesitate. "You haven't been dreaming about me?"

"No, sadly not." The light turns green and her eyes are back on the road. "But I think that it was a sign when you were having dreams about me. A sign that we were supposed to be together."

"That's what I _said_, but you thought I was creepy at first."

"I was just overwhelmed, that's all."

"I told the Glee Club! I told them, 'Just you wait. She'll love me.'"

She sniggers and makes a left turn into a slip road. We begin to drive past infinite fields of crops. I gaze at her face, yearning to remember every freckle and every crease in her flawless complexion. I watch as her golden bangs sway weakly in the warm air that snakes into the car through a small opening in the window. Her fine biceps flex as she grasps onto the wheel. Her red Cheerios uniform clings to her tan skin.

She feels my eyes on her and briefly turns her head. "What?" A shy smirk appears on her face.

"Nothing, you're just beautiful."

Now it's her turn to blush. Her right hand leaves the wheel to clutch onto my left one.

After a few more minutes, she pulls off of the road. "What are you doing?" I ask as I look at the fields around us.

"Let's go."

"Go where? Britt, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Come on!" she leaps out of the car and runs around to pull me out. We jog lightly, hand in hand, through a field of barley. We begin to climb over a small but surprisingly steep hill. When we finally reach the top, we gasp pleasantly.

Before us lies a huge field of beautifully purple orchids that fade into the horizon. "Wow," we sigh simultaneously. Britt drags me down the hill and into the heavenly field.

"Did you know that this was here?" I look at her and see her skin glistening in the warm sun.

"Nope," her smirk returns to her face. "But it's worth it, right?"

"Definitely."

The temperate sunrays shine brightly on my tired eyes. I yawn drowsily and Brittany gazes sideways at me. Suddenly, she lowers herself to the ground, pulling me down with her. She lays back and I place my head in the crook of her armpit as my arm hugs her torso.

"Aha. Just you wait," Brittany says with a delighted snigger from above me.

"Hey," I mutter sleepily. "Those are two awesome phrases that I coined, okay? Don't just go throwing them around like that."

She giggles softly. "I love you," I mumble.

"I love you, too."

I crane up my neck to place a lazy kiss on her lips and nestle back into her chest. We lie there in the calm and surreal field, enamored by our love and attached by the hearts, and before we know it, we're back to counting butterflies.


	8. Epilogue: Happily Ever After

**EPILOGUE**

_Ten Years Later_

* * *

><p>"Hey, babe."<p>

I walk into our modest apartment to find my gorgeous wife seating on the couch, snuggling under a blanket and absorbed in reading a captivating novel. She gazes up at me. "Hey, how did it go?"

"They laughed at me."

Brittany holds back a smirk. "Why?"

"They said that I was ridiculous for even trying," I hang up my coat and set down my purse.

"Well, that's not nice. What'd you tell them?"

"I told them to fuck off."

Brittany chuckles. "Well, in all fairness, it would be kind of hard to employ a girl as a Freddie Mercury impersonator."

"Whatever," I sit beside her and throw the blanket off of her. I lean down and put my ear to her swelled tummy. "How you doin', Freddie, baby?"

"Santana," I hear Brittany from above me. "We are _not_ naming our baby girl Freddie."

"But—"

"We're naming her Sugar."

I ponder that name for a little while as I try to hear or feel her move inside Brittany's womb. "Okay," I say finally. "I like Sugar."

"It's sweet, like her mommy," Brittany strokes my hair.

"Hi, Sugar," I whisper into Brittany's skin. "Can you hear me, baby?"

Brittany's hand calms me as I lay with my face plastered to her. I am in absolute peace and harmony when she softly says, "One butterfly."

I raise my bewildered eyes to her. "What did you just say?"

"One butterfly. You say it in your sleep sometimes."

"Oh," I lower my head again.

"What does it mean?"

"Oh—nothing, it's just a game that dream-you and I used to play."

"Oooh!" Brittany sounds excited. "Teach me how to play."

"It's really a very stupid game—"

"Please, Santana, teach me!"

I sigh. Brittany knows that when she puts on her pleading puppy eyes, I have no choice but to give her what she wants. I raise myself up to face her.

"Well, it started off when we were really young, and we were always in this meadow thingy with a bunch of butterflies, so we'd count them."

"And later on?"

"Later on, it became this game of…foreplay. Dream-you would count to ten butterflies while taking off my clothes or something."

"Let's play," a mischievous grin dominates her face. "One butterfly…"

She pulls me closer to her and locks her brilliant blue eyes with mine. "Two butterflies…"

Her hands expertly begin to unbutton my dress shirt. I lean in for a kiss but she shoves me back. "Three butterflies…"

She slips off my shirt and sets her hungry look on my breasts, which are practically pouring out of my black bra. "Four butterflies…"

She begins to work on the button and zipper of my slacks. "Five butterflies…"

She pushes me back so that she can pull them off of me. Then she draws me back to her and brings her mouth to mine. "Six butterflies…"

She kisses me feverishly and begins to explore the inside of my mouth with her tongue. "Seven butterflies…" she breathes.

She pulls back as her hands snake toward my back to unhook my bra. "Eight butterflies…"

My boobs, perky and magnificent, hang in front of her and she squeezes them in her hands. "Nine butterflies…"

She goes for my panties, but I move in on her and she's forced to recline back on the couch. I lie between her and the back of the couch, one arm protectively over our baby, the other stroking her hair. I bring my face to hers, kiss her softly on the cheek, and whisper, "Ten butterflies."


End file.
